Chapter 62

Chapter 62

The next hour passed in a blur. I gulped down plastic cups of Molson while grinding to Lady Gaga songs until I was simply one more sweaty body moving to the music.

Most of my life, I’d been working toward a single goal: winning gold at the Olympics. That was the bright light that guided my every move, my every decision. Now? Everything had gone dark. I couldn’t picture my future. Allowing myself to think even as far ahead as dawn sent dread surging around me like murky floodwater.

If I stopped dancing, I feared I’d drown.

Around midnight, the Lins showed up. Garrett scanned the crowd, looking for someone. Bella zeroed right in on me.

“What are you doing?” she shouted over the bobsledders belting out “Bad Romance.”

“What are you doing?” I shot back. “Thought you were staying at that fancy hotel so you wouldn’t have to mix with the common folk.”

“We were invited,” Garrett said. “Are you okay, Kat?”

I know how I must have looked: hair plastered to my neck, breath reeking of cheap beer, stripped down to my sports bra to dance with strangers. And Heath nowhere to be found.

“I thought alcohol wasn’t allowed in the Village,” Bella said.

Technically, she was right; the U.S. delegation had rules against alcohol consumption. But other countries weren’t as strict, and for a bunch of adrenaline-junkie high-performance athletes, rules were more like suggestions. The party hadn’t devolved into the orgiastic bacchanal I’d heard rumors of from past Olympics, but as the night wore on, it turned wilder. The darkest corners were full of people making out up against walls or balanced on the edges of furniture, and I’d noticed quite a few couples—and bigger groups—disappearing behind closed doors.

“You wanna go eat some carbs?” Bella offered. “I heard about this place with incredible poutine, over by—”

“Oh, now you’re concerned about my well-being.” I rolled my eyes and took another drink of room-temperature lager.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Why did you show me that article?”

She rocked back on her heels. “What?”

“Why did you show it to me,” I repeated, “right before we skated?”

Bella glanced at her brother, but he was preoccupied, peering out over the sea of faces.

“I thought you needed to know,” Bella said.

“You could have waited until afterward.”

“Everyone was talking. It was only a matter of time before you found out, and I figured you’d rather hear the news from your best friend than from—”

I laughed. “My best friend ? We’ve barely spoken in years, Bella.”

I knew how nasty I sounded. I saw the way she shrunk from me. I didn’t care.

Garrett was watching us now, too—gauging whether he needed to get involved or if he could stand back and stay neutral.

“You didn’t have a chance in hell of getting on that podium,” I said, “unless you found a way to knock me down. Well, guess what, it still wasn’t enough.”

Bella’s eyes sparked with anger. “If you’d really wanted to win, that story wouldn’t have stopped you. Nothing would have stopped you.”

As far as I was concerned, that was a confession. I wasn’t even surprised. Our friendship had been real once, but I always knew it could only go so far where competition was concerned.

“I need a drink,” Bella muttered. “Come on, Garrett.”

“In a minute,” he said. She stalked off without him.

“Can you believe her?” I said. “She purposely messes with my head before the biggest competition of my life, then has the audacity to act like—”

“You won an Olympic medal today. You know that, right?”

I blinked at Garrett, caught off guard by the harsh edge in his voice. He’d never spoken to me that way before. I’d never heard him speak to anyone that way.

“And yeah, okay, Heath did some screwed-up things. But he loves you so much. The way you two torture each other, it’s…” Garrett trailed off with an exasperated shake of his head. “Do you know what I’d give for even a taste of what you’ve got together?”

I threw my hands up, sloshing what was left of my beer onto the floor. “Oh my god, Garrett, no one cares that you’re gay!”

A few of the partygoers closest to us turned to stare. Garrett glanced back and forth, panic building behind his eyes.

“Shit.” I set the cup down and reached toward him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean t—”

“Of course you didn’t mean to, Kat. That would require thinking about someone other than yourself for one goddamn second.”

He turned his back on me and walked away, in the same direction Bella had gone.

Garrett’s words sobered me up like a splash of cold water. The loud music, the cacophony of voices, the stench of spilled beer and smashed-together bodies—it was all too much.

I retrieved my sweatshirt—at least I hoped it was mine, they were all identical, team uniforms meant to make us feel united, patriotic, like something bigger and more important than ourselves—and stepped out onto the patio.

The night air was cool and brisk, a steady breeze blowing across the False Creek inlet. The American athlete housing was near the top of the building, so we had panoramic views of downtown Vancouver and the mountain ranges beyond. The North Shore Mountains. How strange that they had the same name as the area where Heath and I grew up, where we first skated together. That night, as I stared out at the hulking peaks blending into the blackness beyond the city skyline, I’d never felt farther from home.

The door opened, and out stepped Ellis Dean. He certainly had a talent for showing up at the worst possible moment.

“Well, if it isn’t 2010 Olympic bronze medalist Katarina Shaw.”

“I’m not in the mood, Ellis.”

He strolled past me to lean against the railing enclosing the patio. He’d dressed in accordance with the red, white, and blue theme, except Ellis’s idea of patriotic attire involved stripes of faux fur that looked like he’d skinned several Muppets.

“If it’s any consolation,” he said, “that performance will certainly be remembered forever. Maybe not for the reasons you wanted, but—”

“How did you get in here anyway? Press isn’t allowed in the Village.”

“Technically, I’m a former Olympian.” He clocked my bare ring finger. “Don’t tell me you crazy kids called it quits.”

Had we? I wasn’t sure.

“For what it’s worth,” Ellis said, “and I know it’s not worth much: I genuinely thought you knew already. Don’t you and lover boy tell each other everything?”

“Apparently not. So who the hell told you all that stuff?”

“A journalist never reveals his—”

“Cut the crap, Ellis. You’re a gossip blogger, not an investigative reporter for The New York fucking Times. ”

I gripped the railing next to Ellis, cold metal searing my skin. Despite the late hour, the square below the building still teemed with people. Laughing, celebrating, walking close so their shoulders touched.

Ultimately, it didn’t matter who had discovered Heath’s secrets, or how, or when. He still hadn’t chosen to confide in me. And now I’d lost him and the gold, in the same damn day.

No, not lost him. Thrown him away.

“It’s not supposed to feel like this, is it?” I wasn’t sure whether I was talking about skating, or the Olympics, or my relationship with Heath. “It’s not supposed to hurt this much.”

“You’re a skater,” Ellis quipped. “You love pain.” He shifted to face me, suddenly serious. “You want my advice?”

“Not especially.”

“Too bad, you’re getting it.” He laid his hand over mine. “Don’t let Heath disappear on you again. Not without at least trying to work things out. You two are a total disaster, but anyone can see how crazy you are about each other.”

“Thanks, Ellis. That was almost sweet.”

He turned away. Moment over. “Oh no, I meant literally crazy. You and Heath Rocha deserve each other. Maybe at your wedding you can rock matching straitjackets.”

I rolled my eyes and laughed.

“Time to mix and mingle,” Ellis announced. He offered me his arm, like he had all those years ago at Sheila Lin’s Red, White, and Gold Party.

“I’ll see you in there,” I said.

I stayed on the patio alone for a while, savoring the fresh air on my skin. Much as I hated to admit it, Ellis was right: Heath and I drove each other crazy sometimes, but I hated to imagine any version of my future that didn’t somehow include him. I couldn’t let him go without at least telling him so.

Back inside, the party had settled into a mellower rhythm, though there were still plenty of people entwined on the furniture scattered around the common area. Including Garrett.

He was fully horizontal on one of the sofas, having a feverish makeout session with Scott Stanton, a men’s singles skater who’d been on the Stars on Ice tour with us—and had seemed remarkably indifferent to the gaggles of female fans who crowded around him after every show. I still felt awful about blurting out Garrett’s secret earlier, but it looked as if the closet door was blown off the hinges now. Good for him.

When I reached my room, I eased open the door as silently as possible, in case Heath was sleeping. The lights were out, but he’d left the window shades open, so I could just make out the shape of him under the comforter. The spot where I’d flung the flowers was bare; Heath must have cleaned them up. He’d picked up my medal and ring too, placing them on the nightstand.

I was trying to decide between getting into my own bed or breaking the ice by sliding under the covers with him when I heard them.

Heath was in bed all right. But he wasn’t alone.